


Modern Gods of the City

by TearoomSaloon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aphrodite is a Grade A Bitch, Cupid and Psyche retelling, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hilarity Ensues, Kylo is an idiot, Rey Fucks Up™, everyone likes pegging right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/TearoomSaloon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a goddess of attraction doesn't mean she's good at this "making the right people fall in love" thing. In fact, she's bad. She's really, really bad.</p><p>Rule number one: Never carry a pre-loaded arrow.<br/>Rule number two: NEVER CARRY A PRE-LOADED ARROW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Click Your Heels, Dorothy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to the long-overdue project I have been bleeding over. Still working out the kinks in the last few chapters, but there should be no more than 7 and at minimum 6.
> 
> [Undermoonlit Skies](http://undermoonlit-skies.tumblr.com/) is doing the artwork for my story! Check her out, she's incredible.

   

It’s not because of the Wizard of Oz—Dorothy’s shoes are supposed to be silver, anyway. They were silver because of the Farmer’s Alliance and the Populist Party’s agenda regarding the idea of free silver—a would-be colossal market failure. Frank L. Baum’s ‘novel’ was a farce about economics in a rather dry moment of American history. So no, the red shoes weren’t to wish her way home to Kansas.

Every pair of shoes she owns is red from her beat-up Chuck Taylors to the six-inch stilettos she’s almost broken an ankle in twice. They’ve got to be red—that’s the color of love, right?

She couples the red shoes with leather biker jackets and corny patches that make jokes about hearts. Her favorite is the one with the 50s-style red-and-white striped diner straw and the bubbly letters that read ‘Love Sucks’. She’d probably have an ironic _Mom_ heart tattoo on her arm, but she hates needles nearly as much as she hates her mother.

Right, about the love thing and the heart motif. She’s a goddess of desire, but she leaves much to _be_ desired about how she carries herself. It’s more her goal to get _other_ to desire each other, not for _her_ to want someone else. Think about how much havoc that would cause: one, her mother would kill her. Two, she’d probably throw herself straight off the Throgs Neck and drown in the Long Island Sound. Love was pretty much drowning, anyway.

 

“Isn’t that the jerk from the record store?”

Rey snaps from her internal monologue, eyes scanning the park. They’re sitting on a wooden bench the wrong way, perched precariously on the back with their feet on the seat. She follows Finn’s gaze to a particularly pedantic fellow she had the utmost pleasure of listening to drone last week. _Utmost_ pleasure being lectured on how awful her taste in music was as she forked over green bills for an old Herman’s Hermits record.

She fishes a grey-tipped arrow from her quiver, dipping it into the open jar between her feet and twisting until the fletching turned a sickly green. With a white pencil, she scrawls something on the shaft before stringing her bow and letting the doomsday device rip into the asshole across the park.

“Wasn’t that a really powerful one?”

“Yep.” Rey unscrews the cap to her unsweetened lemonade, relishing in its bitterness. “He’s been crushing hard on some girl who frequents the shop, so I smacked her with a lead one yesterday.”

“That’s just cruel.”

“Hey, don’t police me on my music tastes or I’ll ruin your love life.”

Finns chuckles beside her and they go back to people watching. Her sandwich is cold by now, the bread soggy with cheese, tomatoes, and runny yolk. A worthwhile sacrifice for getting some side jobs finished.

“You know,” Finn starts, shoving another pepper slice into his mouth, “I could say a _lot_ on your shitty music choices, but I’m not some hipster jerk—”

“You _think_ you’re not some hipster jerk.”

“Right, whatever. But, if I did, what would that get me? Since you know me an all?”

“I mean, I know Poe, I like Poe, and I still destroyed his last two flings because he acted like a cocky asshole.” It was because he wounded her ego, really.

“You like me better than Poe, though.”

“That’s true, I do like you better than Poe.” She licks ketchup from her lips, soggy sandwich dripping into the tinfoil on her lap. “I’d probably put up with your _unfounded_ criticisms, but don’t start thinking you’re a better shot than I.”

“Rey, I can’t even _string_ a bow. Wait, look at the dog-walkers! That’s some 101 Dalmatians level shit right there. Dude, you _have_ to.”

It continues like this—as it’s always continued like this—until the end of their lunch breaks. Rey messily fills in her log of hits for the day as they walk back side by side, the cooking sidewalk burning their feet through the soles of their shoes. The mid-August heat has descended and doesn’t look to be leaving anytime soon. Reports of the weeklong heat wave are all over the radios, the local stations, and the newspaper kiosks littering the city.

Rey groans, her pen slippery in her fingers, hands sweating onto the paper of her pad. “My numbers are on a downward spiral.”

“Well, yeah, it’s hot as balls out. If you’ve got A/C, you stay inside.”

“And if no one goes out, I have to resort to going in.”

There is a level of comfort she gets in being outside, starting with appearances. Rey likes to keep her wings out and that’s significantly harder to do in a walled space. No one sees them, of course—mortals are a little blind to gods—but hiding them all the time was the equivalent of sleeping awkwardly on her neck. Besides, when she’s outside, her mother has a harder time locating her.

“And the devil doth appear,” she mutters as her phone begins to buzz.

Finn gives her a wary look as she slides the screen to answer. “Mommy dearest! Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, Eros.”

That tone. It’s the chastising tone, the tone that haunted her childhood. She launches into her defense. “Listen, Mom, I know my numbers haven’t been looking great this past week. We’re in the middle of a _massive_ heat wave and no one is braving the outside—”

“I’m not calling about that. Haven’t had a chance to look them over yet.”

Rey’s heart sinks. No, of course she hasn’t had time.

“I need to ask for a favor, sweetheart.”

“I’m a little busy but I should be able to manage, yeah. What is it?”

The line is quiet as she and Finn wait for traffic to slow on Lexington. They’re halfway across before her mother’s voice picks up again. “It’s not a nice thing, what I’m asking.”

“It’s fine, Mom.” It’s not fine. She hates doing the dirty laundry. “What do you need?”

“I need you to burn someone.”

Those were the words she feared. She gave Finn a look— _the_ look, one reserved for the worst of her mother’s demands—and he grimaced. They would be discussing this over jack and cokes later.

Burning someone, in her mother’s meaning, is a harsher treatment than what Rey is used to doing to the assholes and bitches who wander lecherously through the streets. Usually, if she wants to get back at someone, she uses a lead arrow to make the object of affection repulsed by the jerk in question. Works well enough. When feeling a little nastier, it’s one desire arrow and one will-lose-interest arrow.

But burning. _Burning_ is just cruel. Make some poor sod fall in love with someone ugly or just as vicious. Or worse, the best friend who will never love them back. Once, when she was a child, she accidentally made someone fall in love with a goat. It was humorous until she realized it was a nearly impossible task to reverse an arrow’s effects.

Rey swallows thickly, already knowing she’ll be forced to obey. “All right. Who am I burning?”

• • •

She storms into work, contemplating tossing herself over the generous huddle of paint cans and lying in a used tarp until her boss sighed and dragged her to her feet.

“You don’t _have_ to do this, you know,” Finn says as he hovers by the door. He has to be elsewhere and the fact that he’s taking time to calm her down only stokes the fire. “You can say no.”

“I can’t say no, I can _never_ say no. She’ll hang me.”

“She’s your _mother_ —”

“Yeah, and all I am is some sick reminder of my dad and her failure to abort.”

“Rey!”

She braces herself on one of the half-finished countertops, letting out a slow sigh. Getting worked up won’t solve anything. “She reminds me of it, you know. If I try to get out of something, that’s what she holds over my head every goddamn time.”

“All this yelling and you’ll bother the neighbors.” Her boss appears from one of the other rooms of the half-finished apartment, sawdust in his already pepper-gray hair.

“They’re out of town, Han.”

He indicates to Finn. “You’re bothering _him_. Are you here to set up an in-person appointment?”

“No, sorry sir. I do _not_ have the funds for this. Rey, I have to get back to work.”

“See?”

Finn gives a sheepish wave and a promise of meeting her at Three Faces after his shift, which would no doubt end later than Rey’s.

She falls into the rhythm of measuring out tiles for the bathroom, having to cut new angles with the slightly changed layout of the shower. She likes the hard labor mixed with artistic creativity, has loved it since she was first dragged into the business years ago.

It’s a smaller, upscale renovation firm, one run by the husband of her favorite person. They specialize in older styles of woodwork and architecture, but she’s growing into modern tastes and Han is letting her head mini projects for return clients. They make good money, do good work, and the by the end of the day, she’s satisfied with the bruises on her knees and the paint stuck in her hair. Besides, smashing a wall to smithereens is a good way to distress.

“What’s got you so frustrated?” Han roars over the sound of the tile saw.

She cuts the engine. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if you keep having to recut the same piece.”

Rey apologizes and swears, rechecking her measurements.

“Do you remember my mother?”

Han’s eyes grow stormy.

Everyone knows her mother.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love, most beautiful being in existence. The sluttiest, shittiest, most neglectful parent who cheats on her spouse like it’s a day job and harasses her child for existing.

“Do you want me to…?”

“No, please, I can handle it. I don’t _want_ to, but I can. It’s just…” Rey takes a deep breath as she preps another square of dark blue porcelain. “She usually gives me petty demands but today she asked me to ruin someone’s life. I don’t personally like the someone in question, but I know it’ll be hell to pay if I go through with it.”

“A man, I assume? Funny, I thought your mother was vainer than that.”

“A kid barely older than me who’s stealing attention from her, a fashion world icon.”  _Your son_ , she wants to say, but holds her tongue.

Han nods gruffly. “Leia won’t be happy.”

“And I can’t break that promise to her, not after all she’s given me.”

Leia—divine name of Melione, daughter of Hades and Persephone—is the reason why Rey isn’t facedown in the dirt somewhere. Where her own mother is abusive and awful, Leia is stern but loving and had gotten Rey back on her feet in her darkest moment. She’s the one who had talked Han into hiring then-vacant-eyed Rey, her mind always a fog of intoxicants and self-hatred.

Han, recognizing Rey’s stubborn mood, lets the topic drop. “If you need anything, ask.”

Work passes quickly and the dusk approaches when she gets off at eight thirty. Rey helps Chewie (Han’s business partner, great big lumberjack type who seemed to be more beard than face) load the van. Saying half-hearted goodbyes, she stumbles the blocks to the subway and rides to the Village. She creeps down the stairs to a basement pub, hands ghosting across the vine-covered bannister.

This is Three Faces, a teashop for mortals turned bar for divinity come the evening. It is headed by a tiny woman who went by Maz (Hecate for the old souls), whose cheerful and wise demeanor keeps the crowds mirthful in the low lights and soft folk sounds.

She settles at the bar; ordering a ginger beer and a lavender cake, set to drown her troubles in exotic-seeming flavors. Finn reappears halfway through the bottle with Poe trailing, the Three Musketeers reunited again.

"I’d love to go at least one week without hearing about your mom,” Poe says as he takes the seat to her right, Finn flanking on the left. “Can’t we just like, dump her in the Hudson or something?”

“That would piss off your dad, and he is not at the top of my ‘People it Would Be Fun to Enrage’ list. Might actually be at the very bottom with several asterisks and bold print that says _do not upset at all costs_.”

Poe rolls his eyes. “Just a suggestion.”

“Who is it she’s trying to doom, anyway?” Finn asks after hailing George for a beer. “You didn’t explain anything, only blew up.”

“You’ll goad me into it if I say.”

Poe chuckles and steals a sip of her beer. “As someone who’s been on the receiving end of your romance-destroying anger, I cannot say I’d wish it upon anyone else.”

“You’ve met our Psyche, right?”

The peanut gallery issues a collective groan.

“Oh _Rey_ ,” Finn starts, putting his face in his hands.

“Ben S—Kylo Ren is _not_ someone you need to defend.”

“But he’s Han and Leia’s kid—”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you owe him any favors.” Poe accepts a whisky sour from George and hands him a generous wad of bills. “He’s petty, he’s mean—”

“He’s a jerk of the highest caliber, can’t seem to go a ten minutes without steering the conversation back to himself—”

“Not to mention he has the world’s most punchable face. It’s just asking for a good clean hook, I’d love to break his pretty little nose.”

"I’m not decking Leia’s son, okay? He’s so tall I think I’d lose my fist in the clouds first.”

“What’s your mom got against him, anyway?”

“New hotshot model-turned-designer on the track who shut her out of a show and you think she’s _not_ going to have a problem? After she’s single-handedly tarnished and warped the careers and images of every other supermodel or designer that gave her any sort of bad press?”

Poe and Finn’s noses scrunch up and they give each other a look across her. In unison, they scoff. “He was a _model?_ ”

Next thing Rey knows, two smartphones are thrust close to her plate as their heads duck closer, unceremoniously pulling her into their internet stalking. Finn’s looking up actual info on Ren while Poe scans Google for images, both skeptical as snakes.

“He’s…not _unattractive_ ,” Poe says with a furrowed brow. “Kind of weird looking.”

Rey’s phone has founds its way onto the bar too. “Oh my god, he has the ears of an elephant.”

“ _Kylo Ren_ ,” Finn reads, his voice strangled into something that sounds vaguely like a posh British spokeswoman, “ _Height: 6’4”—_ ”

“Six- _four?_ ” Poe hisses. “ _Z_ _eus almighty_ I didn’t think he was _that_ tall.”

“Hey, no taking your dad’s name in vain,” Rey teases, browsing a portfolio of nearly only black and white photos.

“And no interrupting while I’m mocking. _Waist: 32”, chest: 42”, collar: 16”, Suit: 42L_ …what is he, a walking triangle?”

“He’s so _broad._ ” Rey drains her beer. “Cuts an impeccable figure in a suit.”

“His face is still weird in a slightly attractive way.”

“And he’s had a _load_ of gigs already, both walking and showing. Look at this resume; no wonder your mom wants him dead.”

The three scroll through the list of what he’s worked on to this point and she groans. There is going to be no getting around this.

• • •

Rey takes her morning jogs at 6am, trying to beat out the day’s heat and avoid most of the strollers and tourists who crowd Central Park in the summers. Some days, like today, she takes along her bow and quiver to get some work done before the city fully wakes from its half-hearted slumber. And most days, also like today, more people than she expects have the same idea.

The outside is still hotter than sin and she’s finding herself more uncomfortable than usual, air coming into her lungs like a wet sweater, choking and humid and awful. Stopping under the shade of a big oak tree, she sets her gear down and all but dumps water down her throat. Some spills onto her face and down her neck, but she’s not complaining, not today.

She was hoping this run would help clear her mind of the task at hand, the task she wanted to vanish into the void. The slap of her sneakers on the alternating pavement and grass did nothing to drown out the thoughts, the music pounding in her head no more than a buffer.

Careless fingers wrap around the wrong side of an arrow and she hisses, dropping it to the ground, head snapping up into a sea of people. Nauseous, she ducks to the ground, a new gravity settling on her shoulders.

Her palm is bleeding. The arrow, now broken, lies discarded on the ground. Its tip is black and the fletching is the darkest red she’s only shot once or twice—this isn’t the kind of arrow she takes lightly. Black arrowhead meant it was a command arrow, one whose intent couldn’t be shaken off like white or grey tipped arrows. Its fletching was law, and the red, this red, this dark, dark oxblood red…

A soulmate arrow.

Why is she carrying a _prepared_ soulmate arrow?

She _never_ carries pre-prepared arrows—she’s accidentally impaled herself on a tip one too many times to know that having a finished arrow in her quiver is stupid _fucking_ idea. And now it would bite her in the ass.

Rey watches in horror as the tool of her self-inflicted destruction crumbles into nothingness on the ground. She hadn’t even been looking at anyone when it happened, hadn’t set herself into a position for it to actually take hold, right? Right, yeah, this isn’t going to be an issue. She’ll just gather her things and—

There’s a mark on her left wrist. Black and deep, it’s something akin to what she’s seen on the skin of everyone she’s ever marked with her bow. A stylized letter psi has cropped up on her skin, stately and swirling at the same time. There are Roman numerals below the letter, _XXVIII_. 28. Twenty-eight days. Less than a month. She has less than a month and a bit before…

Oh _no_.

Psi. Psyche. The person she’d been (negatively) thinking about all morning.

She is going to fall in love— _hopelessly, stupidly in love_ —with Kylo Ren and there’s not a damn thing she can do to stop it.

Rey wants to throw up but instead she picks up her quiver and bow (carefully this time) and her feet take her to Finn’s as her head swims away into a bleak abyss.


	2. Home in New York was Champagne and Disco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 1: Meet the guy you've just bound yourself to for all eternity.  
> Step 2: Act uncomfortable around him.  
> Step 3: Watch as your dreams get crushed when you realize he has a girlfriend.  
> Step 4: Make a poor life choice due to the coercion of your friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, sorry for the absence. I'm taking a summer class and it's eating up 70-80 hours a week! Crazy!

“You did _what?_ ”

Finn is pacing his living room; Rey is seated on the couch. She’s still in her running gear and feels _disgusting_ , but this wasn’t something that could wait. Besides, if she went home, she would begin to panic, _badly_.

“It wasn’t _on purpose!_ I don’t even know how the arrow _got_ there; I haven’t shot a soulmate one in _ages!_ Since September! What was it _doing?_ ”

“Does it _matter?_ ” Finn calms his freak-out for all of a few seconds. “Okay. Okay, is there a way to reverse it?”

She’s white as a ghost. “No.”

“ _No?_ ”

“Black tip. Nothing reverses a black arrowhead. They’re treated with _extreme_ caution.”

“But you had one lying around?”

“I have a bunch of them, but none of them are loaded. _This one_ was loaded. Black arrowhead, oxblood fletching. Soulmate arrow. And this—” she flashes her marked wrist, “—is my new soulmate. You get three guesses as to whom, and the first two don’t count.”

His eyes widen and his jaw drops more—if that’s even possible. “You’re not serious.”

“I’d prefer not to be, but this wicked new fake tat likes to say otherwise.”

The letter psi hadn’t rubbed off yet. She couldn’t scrub this mistake away.

“Did it _have_ to be Ren?”

“Apparently.” She sighs and leans back onto his sofa, a spot she’s _incredibly_ familiar with. “You know, for a while I’d been thinking…I had wanted to call this whole ring-around off and just mark you to fall for me. Have a comfortable romance, do things the right way. Not fuck up like an _asshole_ and get bound for eternity with that punk.”

His shoulders sink. “You wanted to…we could have…?”

“Yeah.” She nods, distraught. “Yeah, I’d been seriously considering it.”

“But now _he’s_ in the way.”

“No, Finn, _I’m_ in the way. I didn’t hit him back. The arrow broke and I don’t have its twin. I’m going to fall so hopelessly for him only to never get loved back. I burned _myself_.” His hand finds her shoulder when the waterworks start. “What am I going to _do_?”

“You can’t tell Aphrodite.”

“ _No_.” It comes out hard from her choked throat. “No, no one tells Mother. I can’t tell Han or Leia. Do we try Poe?”

Finn nods. “Yeah, yeah we can try Poe.”

  

Manhattan is a loud, busy place. In addition to being loud and busy, today it is _hot_ beyond all reason. Kylo Ren (brand name, birth name Ben Solo) is utterly miserable as he walks the few short blocks from Mona’s apartment to his studio. The cool blast of air at the entryway doors is like a kiss of heaven. Phasma flocks to him when he approaches the elevators, following him up in the gold-plated car.

“Has _Aphrodite_ made any more threats to my girlfriend?” he asks his PA before she could drone on.

“Which one? The fake one, or do you have a real one now?”

“Fake one.”

“No, nothing more than last time. Something about a thousand years of bees and stained clothes.” She lets out a sigh. “When are the two of you going to break up?”

“In time for Fashion Week at least, maybe sooner. Something to bolster both of our careers and get the gay rumors out of the water for her.”

“…But she is gay.”

“Bi, but seeing a woman. And that doesn’t bode well when her current project is for selling men’s cologne, does it? _Especially_ when Aphrodite is trying to reap even the smallest speck of dirt.”

Mona Vila, Italian supermodel princess, is one of the prettiest faces to crop up in the past decade. Beautiful, educated, and charming, she had a golden career ahead, or would, if the Goddess of Love didn’t keep trying to shove her out of the ring with every dirty accusation possible. Barely twenty-two and one of Kylo’s most perfectly proportioned girls, it would be a tragedy to lose her.

“Were you _seen_ leaving her apartment this morning?”

“Oh, absolutely. Expect some new threat by lunch.”

She follows him in when he unlocks his office doors, mulling over proposals and deadlines they have to meet for Fashion Week. It’s early mid-August and the crunch is in full swing, with Kylo’s name freshly out and quickly rising through the press.

“Did you get a _tattoo_ , Ren?”

He blinks, just having set his jacket on the back of his chair. “ _Tattoo?_ ”

“Your right wrist.”

He looks down with wide eyes before hastily unbuttoning his shirtsleeve. There is an arrow across his pulse point, _XXIII_ —twenty-three—in Roman numerals below the shaft. How didn’t he notice—he didn’t—

“Eros burned you.”

Kylo frowns. “What?”

“It’s an arrow mark, something used to keep track of who’s already been destined to fall in love—or out; I’m not sure how the whole thing works.”

“But I’m…” He scowls at his wrist. “I’m a demigod. Wouldn’t I have _noticed_ getting hit by one of those blasted things?”

“ _You_ didn’t get hit. Someone else got hit to fall for _you._  That’s the basic pattern.”

The mark seems to burn on his skin, tracing fire through his veins. How hadn't he _noticed_ it? “Someone’s going to fall in love with me?”

“Might be a crush, might be more.”

Something sinks to the bottom of his stomach, an emotion he can’t quite name. He sits down heavy in his chair, still staring. Someone—who, he didn’t know—was going to _love him_. And he didn’t get to pick whom it was, or if they’d be kind, or gentle, or even accepting of his myriad scars. Or if _he_ would want them back, since he hadn’t been hit. Would she—he hopes it’s a she, he’s not very into men—be pretty? Or smart?

Could anyone _actually_ love his flaws?

It might be a crush, but…it feels heavier in his bloodstream. His soul seems to _know_ , but his head hasn’t caught up.

Someone is going to love him.

And he’s never felt more…uncertain.

"Don’t get too worked up about it,” Phasma says as she lays the rest of the day’s agenda on his desk, “it’s not always a forever deal.”

But this one is, he can sense it in his bones.

And that sensation doesn’t leave as he mulls about his day. Doesn’t leave when he returns home to his fake girlfriend and her half-finished apartment (she’d been remodeling it for a week already and the bathroom would be finished soon, but the kitchen…). They went out for dinner, making sure to be seen, and then returned, him staying in the guest bedroom while she and her real girlfriend slept in the master suite. It would be so _nice_ when Mona would finally be done with the men’s fragrance campaign. She and Louise could then go out together and he could sleep in his own bed every night. He missed the memory foam and Egyptian cotton sheets.

• • •

His week continues the same as it always did leading up to Friday.

Friday gets a little weird.

First, he skips coffee for a meeting. This leaves him a little frazzled and a lot out of it. It’s unpleasant to talk through a mouth that isn’t coordinated, but he manages. Next, he leaves a very needed portfolio at Mona’s, which he has to rush back for. This wouldn’t have been an issue any other day of the week, but today they’re surveying the office, which is _definitely_ where he left it.

Of course it’s his dad’s company that’s remodeling her place.

Quick as a cheetah, he unlocks the door to the apartment and slips by Chewie taking measurements in the foyer (he hasn’t spoken to him or his parents in a few months, which is probably for the better). Meandering around the kitchen, through the second hallway, and into the office, he shuts the door behind him.

Only to find he’s not alone in the room.

There’s a girl in one of those open side tank tops standing in the middle of the room, a brightly colored sports bra highly visible through the shirt. Her hair is up in a wild knot and her jeans are light washed and _coated_ in everything from paint to silicon. She turns as he’s inspecting her Red Wing boots, which are some shade of burgundy dyed leather.

And she’s gorgeous.

Completely fashion-inept, but gorgeous.

Her eyes take him in with a brief shock before she settles, and he gets a vague sensation like she knows him somehow. There’s the faintest lilt to her voice when she speaks. “Can I help you with something?”

“Kylo Ren,” he says, a little too sleep-deprived to extend a hand. “Mona’s boyfriend.” Though, at the moment, he really wishes he weren’t fake-dating his best model. “I, um, I left a portfolio here before heading into the office. It’s big, black leather, was on the desk.”

“Oh!” Her face picks up as she heads for the closet. “It looked important so I stashed it.” She fishes the thing out from the depths of high heels and twice-worn dresses, handing it to him with graceful fingertips. He catches the sight of a thick black tattoo on her inner wrist.

“That’s some interesting ink,” he says in what he hopes is a casual tone.

She freezes up anyway. “Yeah, it’s, uh, commemorative.”

“Ah.” This conversation was growing more awkward by the moment. “Thank you…?”

“Rey,” she offers.

“Well, thank you, Rey.” He gives her a smile (one that probably looks too cheeky or dead tired) and makes his way out the door, slinking around carefully until he’s back outside the apartment and on the way down the elevator.

He really, _really_ wishes Eros hadn’t struck someone for him, because he’s not sure he’ll see another girl that pretty. She isn’t the sharp sort of beauty Mona is, nothing ethereal or intangible. She looks down to earth, pleasant, and comfortable. A simple beauty, one that was now so rare in the industry. She looks like the type of girl he’d want to marry (if anyone would consider that with him), someone who would age like a fine vintage and not be so vain as to get caught up in themselves (she was _clearly_ not one for vanity, and it piqued his interest that much more). But he didn’t know a thing about her, and the crush eased from his mind as he stumbled back into the city heat.

 

Rey’s heart has caught fire in her chest. Ten days have passed since her Huge Blunder of the Century, and she’s finally run into Kylo Ren. She hasn’t seen him in person that close before. He fell out with his father before she’d been taken under Leia’s wing, and she’d never, ever been introduced. And he was making her heartbeat erratic and her breathing stupid and gods _dammit_ was that the arrow again? Or does she genuinely find him _that_ attractive?

To top off the mess, he has a _girlfriend_. The beautiful, beautiful model whose apartment she is currently standing in is dating Kylo Ren, another beautiful, beautiful person. And, goddess of love may she be, she is not a looker of any sort. She’s plain. He’s incredible. The girlfriend is better. She’s cursed herself to fall for a man who is spoken for, and there’s no way to live this down or fix it up.

So when work finally, _finally_ finishes, she splits like lightning to Poe’s place, stopping home to shower and clean up a little first. Finn texts when she’s on her way over, saying he’ll be a little late and to please not wait for him to get there before spilling her beans all over the floor. She agrees—this has to be dealt with immediately or she’ll drown herself in a bottle of wine.

“You look haggard,” Poe says when she stumbles in, barely together on her feet. Everything’s been swimming awfully in her brain.

“So we need to have a talk.” She goes straight for his kitchen, pulling the emergency wine out of the fridge under the island. To note, Poe is _loaded_. His father’s an important figure and he manages a small private airline. Rey is…all right in the money business, but it’s not like this.

“Have I insulted your aim accidentally again?”

“No.”

“Couple not working out the right way?”

“ _Nope_.”

“Your mom being an asshole?”

“Yes, but that’s a constant and it’s not about that.”

“I’m out of ideas. Hey, if you’re going to be pouring, at least get me a glass too.”

She brings two glasses out to the living room, passing him one and flashing her mark. “Has a lot to do with this.”

“ _Shit_.”

“Right?”

“Do you _have_ a death wish?”

“No, but someone must have one for me. Happened totally by accident, pulled a loaded arrow out of my quiver.”

“ _Jesus_ , Rey.”

“Are we practicing Christianity now?”

Poe laughs, but his expression turns sullen. “There’s no getting out of this, is there?”

“I don’t think so.” She brings her free arm around her waist, trying to get some comfort out of the gesture. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading, have gone through all the older texts that I can, but I’m not finding anyway to reverse a black-tipped arrow. White and grey, sure, but not _black._ ”

“So that’s it, then?” he asks, shuffling on his feet. “You’re going to get stuck with him.”

“Yeah.”

“And you were supposed to burn him, right?”

She nods. She _was_ , but dammit, she went and burned herself instead. Playing with fire isn’t her specialty. “I met him, too, for the first time earlier.”

“Enormous asshole, right?”

Rey frowns, calling his face to mind. He had seemed more...stunned than anything. Awkward from being thrown into an unexpected situation. “Puzzling is the word I’d use. He’s got a girlfriend.”

She could see Poe’s heart sink on his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too. You know, this could have gone so much better.”

“Could have gone a lot worse too. You could have _actually_ burned him, and then Leia would have your head mounted on her wall.”

Rey winces. Leia may be kind and patient, but she’s still Hades’ daughter, and some of her father’s less savory tendencies had rubbed off on her. “Unfortunately, that’s still a possibility. I haven’t told anyone but you or Finn that this has happened.”

Poe mulls over his wine for a minute before looking back up at her, eyes bright. She knows that look—it’s never good. “We need to get you out of Mope Land for a bit. What are you doing tonight?”

“I assume I’m doing whatever you’re about to tell me we’re doing.”

“Do you remember my friend Patrick?”

She groans. Oh, _yes_ , yes she does. Tall, macho, perfect mustache. Throws a lot of dungeon parties. Rey likes Patrick; she’s partial to the parties, but Poe helps to host them and she’s been dragged to one too many for her liking.

“I’m just manning the door tonight if you want to tag along.”

“Finn’s on his way though.”

“Yeah, I know. I told him beforehand.”

“I’m not _dressed_ for that sort of a thing.”

Poe waves a hand, as if attempting to brush her concerns into the wind. “We can run you home or you can borrow something from Theresa downstairs.”

• • •

Rey and Theresa are _not_ the same size. She is by no means busty, but the tiny shirt Theresa has managed to squeeze her into makes her look three times her size. She’s feeling far more than exposed in a strappy bra and a cropped tank pulled down way below the cups. At least the shorts fit.

“Your lipstick needs to be _far_ darker,” Terry mutters as she pulls out a train case that would put most women to shame.

“They’re always dark and this one is masked; why do I need _makeup?_ ”

She shrugs. “In case you take the mask off, or if we go out afterwards. I know Poe doesn’t plan on staying very long.”

There are no more arguments to be had by the time they make it to the Village, taking a roundabout criss-cross way to get to the venue. They split up halfway there, not wanting to draw attention to the door. Once inside and down the stairs into a dimly lit space, an ornate half-face mask is thrust at Rey and she takes it grumbling, still unimpressed with how her night is turning out.

“What color do you want, honey?” asks one of the other assistants (she thinks his name is Jamie).

Oh, fuck it. Tonight sucks anyway. “Pink and orange.”

Jamie gives her a wink as he slides two gel-filled bracelets onto her right wrist. They look like they belong at a children’s birthday party, the insides filled with glitter and speckled with blacklight paint. The pink one means she’d rather do the approaching, and the orange says she’d rather stay out of the public areas.

Finn is hovering by Poe at the door. Poe doesn’t have any bands on (he’s here to check people in and brag about the hors d'oeuvres he made), but Finn has blue and red bracelets.

“Expecting someone?” she asks, indicating his colors.

“There’s a girl I met the last time we went I wouldn’t mind seeing again,” he admits. “But other than that, I’m good.”

“You plan on participating?” Poe asks with an _evil_ grin.

“Maybe, maybe not. We’ll see.”

Truthfully, the answer is no, not really. She picked the bands _just in case_ she saw someone she recognized from an earlier party (as much as she’d like to pretend not to be one, she _is_ at vet at these things), but the likelihood of one of her old partners showing up is slim. They haven’t been around in a good long while and she’s not intent on making new playdates just yet. Especially not with the branding on her wrist.

And, she easily could have gone the whole night in the background stuffing her face full of mini quiches. But fate likes to play horrible games with her, and with the luck she’s been having, this was bound to go haywire from the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get _weird_ aren't they?


	3. Peer Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of dramatic irony, to say the least. Only, she is the audience and he's the player on the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, needed to change the rating thanks to this chapter...

“Come _on_ , Kylo, just come out with Louise and me. I promise it’s going to be fun.”

“I am _not_ setting foot in some weird depraved kink club.”

Mona groans, tossing her bra in some uncared for direction, stalking around the bedroom in a lacy thong for something to wear. “First, it’s a play party. Second, it’s not _depraved_. Don’t pretend you’re not into some freaky shit yourself.”

“I am _not_ —”

“I’ve seen your search history. You’re not wriggling out of this one.”

He colors, acutely aware of what she'd most likely seen. Embarrassed, he stays quiet until she's clothed. “Please don’t tell me you’re wearing _that._ ”

It’s a black dress, skin tight with bands of fabric replacing the back. She easily goes from a ten to a twelve point five in it, stretchy material hugging her hips. “I am. Hurry up and get dressed.”

“I’m not coming.”

“You’ve been in a funk all week. I’m going, you _have_ to come. If I get spotted with Louise, this all goes under.”

He huffs. She has a point. “What do you even _wear_ to these things?”

“Remember last December’s collection?”

“ _Leather_. I wear _leather?_ ”

“You’ve got the nice black leather jacket. Something under it with short sleeves, tight pants for this.” She slaps his ass as she drifts by, searching for heels. “I want to get going in ten; Louise is already on her way there.”

Ten minutes is not enough time to prepare and she has the unfair advantage of her makeup already on and perfect. He has few minutes remaining to pull together something that says ‘leather but not leatherdaddy’ and get his hair to work _with_ him, not against him. He’s half-successful with both things, coming together to make a slight mess. His pants aren’t too tight, but he finds himself in a pair of Chelsea boots that Mona immediately laughs.

“You can’t wear _Givenchy_ to this, Kylo.”

“I don’t _have_ any shoes suitable otherwise.”

“You’ve got the combat boots from the Saint Laurent shoot a few months ago, right?”

He returns to her with black leather boots climbing just past his ankles, the ends of his jeans stuffed into the tops. “I feel scandalized.”

“You _look_ scandalous. In a bad way.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

“No, no, I mean. I think it’s impossible for you to not look like you’re walking straight out of a Burberry ad. Oh, no, not that jacket.”

“How many leather jackets do you think I _own?_ ”

“Two, this Belstaff that looks like it’s trying to be a Bomber that made love with a trench coat,” she pauses, nose wrinkling. “I really hate this one.”

“It was a _gift!"_

“And the good one, the old fifties-style offbrand you inherited from your granddad.”

“But it’s _offbrand._ ”

“Do you think this is a designer dress? No, get the old jacket unless you want to stick out like a sore thumb.”

In the end, she grumbles and has him stop changing clothes, each new outfit piece only exaggerating the ‘fashionably disheveled’ look he’s managed to turn into his casual attire. His nose is too posh and angled for him to look anything but unreasonably stiff and cultured. Since there’s no getting around that, Mona drags him out in the old leather jacket and shiny new boots, his hair tousled and messy in an extravagantly over-styled way.

He has never, ever in his life, been to a play party. He thinks they must be full of debauchery and wildly public sin, a venue of leather and chains strewn across the floor, space lit by torches on the stone walls. Someplace weird and kinky. It’s a nice surprise to find it’s...a totally normal place.

They’re ushered into the garden level of a townhouse in the Village, the floor a beautiful wood and all the windows covered with dark shades. To his surprise, Apollo is at the door, a mortal beside him passing out wristbands.

“I put down two extras with my name,” Mona says ahead of him. “Should be under Vila. I spoke with Pat when I made my reservation.”

Apollo raises an eyebrow at _him_ then turns back to Mona. “And the two are…?”

“Louise Hunt, she’s here already. Jaguar mask, I think.”

“Oh, I remember her!” His face lights up. “She liked my quiches. And the other?”

“Kylo Ren, who’s here.” Mona takes his arm and waves it, trying to jerk him out of his buzzing nervous mood. “It’s his first time, so—a red band, I think?”

“Wait.” He interrupts the plans being made for him. “What does the color mean?”

“Red means you don’t want to be engaged. I’d recommend it if you’ve never done this before.”

He has to get out of this slump though. “No. I’ll participate, but on my terms.”

Mona gives him a hopeful but cautious look. “Yellow, then. And I’d like a blue one.”

He is guided into a large but dimly-lit room, upholstery against the walls and people mulling about. The dress code is everywhere from almost entirely nude to full-body suits. There’s blacklight on the ceiling; it turns his shirt violet and makes the bracelet on his wrist glow.

Mona pulls him into a bathroom before they’re seen on the floor. It’s small and obviously for a personal home, with cute Mediterranean decor on the towels and tiling. “Strip,” she commands.

“And here I thought we were just for show,” he says cheekily before pulling off the jacket.

She rips at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. She is equally quick with the belt and the button of his jeans. Her fingers dig into the waistband and yank it down lower on his hips, exposing the red and black strip of his underwear’s elastic band. She fastens his belt, but looser, so his pants continue to sag. He feels more self-conscious, happy trail on public display.

“Are you _serious?_ ”

“Jacket back on. I’ll give the shirt to the coat check under my name.”

“I am _exposed_ , Mona!”

“Did you not see the girl in pasties and a g-string? Come on.”

She hands him a mask before they enter the room, explaining that this month’s party has a sort of ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ theme. “Only the guy at the door knows your name,” she says softly, fastening a half mask of red and yellow feathers around her head. The one he’s wearing is heavy, made of some black casting and adorned with golden Hellenistic images. How appropriate.

Some of the rooms leading off the main one are locked, but a fair amount had open doors, couples inside encouraging spectators. There is a group of three in a corner engaged in what looks like a little more than heavy petting, and there are signs by the couches that ask to please refrain from sitting if you’re not wearing pants. He tags along with Mona for as long as he can before she and Louise wander off hand in hand, and he takes it as a sign to hang back.

A wallflower he becomes, content to observe how this all works for the remainder of the night. He stays undisturbed and unnoticed for all of twenty minutes before there’s a body before him, a dark-lipped smile peeking from below a mask of white and silver. “You look lonely,” says a voice that sounds vaguely familiar. A voice he won’t recognize no matter how much he thinks about it.

“Observing,” he explains. “I’m new to this.”

“Didn’t come with anyone?”

“With a friend, but she’s otherwise engaged.”

“I see.” She moves to stand beside him and his eyes trail her legs. They’re long and muscular, covered by a small strip of fabric that can barely be considered shorts.

“Have you been before?”

“Oh, yeah. A lot.” She fumbles with her hands and clears her throat. “One friend is always a little over excited to go. You’ve dressed better than a lot of the newbies I’ve seen, so I’ll give you major props for that.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Yeah. You should see the weird things some people put together, no idea what they’re going to get into. I personally ascribe to less is more, but the open jacket works for you.”

He can feel his cheeks start to flush. He hasn’t a clue what the rest of her face looks like under the mask, but her lips are nice and her chest, though small, is emphasized well. Still, he’s not one for one-night deals, and it makes him question his being here.

Well...what’s the harm in once?

“Would you care to play?” she asks, almost reading his mind. “Not out here. I’m more of a private person myself.”

“Sure, I’m up for a little experimentation.”

She takes a key from her pocket and leads him across the room. “I know the guys who host,” she explains, “and I asked them to save a space for me. Rather not have to change the sheets or deal with someone else’s mess, you know?”

He nods. He's not entirely sure he wants to know what she means, but he has an idea. Maybe this isn't his worst plan in the world, fooling around with some unknown girl, getting some stress out of his bones and shaking the eyes of the girl he'd bumped into earlier, the one with no dress sense and a simple beauty to last an eon.

And now he finds her invading his mind. Which is strange beyond reason; he's managed to forget about her until now.

 

Rey’s pulse is pounding in her ears and she cannot _believe_ that her feet are moving while her brain screams for her to hold the fuck up. She has _Kylo Ren_ in tow and she’s leading him to the room Poe snagged the keys to, one of the bigger rooms usually left to VIPs (though it was unclaimed tonight). He’s spoken for. He’s spoken for, he’s at this _super lowkey_ dungeon party, he’s a _newbie_ , and he’s _following her_.

She thinks it’s an accident she recognized him, but something nagging in her brain picked up on it immediately. It’s as though the mark on her wrist can tell where her soon-to-be object of affection was, and she located him with subtle subconscious ease. And he’s got a girlfriend. And he’s agreed to fool around with her.

Her heart leaps when she gets the key in the lock, pushing the room open and ushering him quickly inside. It’s darker in here without the lights on, remaining dim even when she gets the overhead lamp to flicker. _Mood lighting, how appropriate_ , she thinks. Still too bright for her to feel comfortable taking off her mask.

“I’m not going to ask you to show your face,” she says smoothly, trying to remember where Patrick keeps the condoms in this room, “but they are uncomfortable and one of us can be blindfolded if that sounds more appealing to you.”

“How...effective is the blindfold?”

 _Useless, because I know who you are_. “It’s not see-through and it covers the upper part of your face.”

“I...I guess I wouldn’t mind? The dynamics of this are all new to me.”

“You’ve never engaged in BDSM before? Not even light stuff?”

He shakes his head and Rey wants to bury her hands in that beautiful black hair. “No. The friend who brought me here is into it and she’s trying to get me to...open up, or get out of a slump, or something.”

“This is as perfect a place as any for that,” she says softly, drawing the thick dark blindfold from the nightstand drawer. She’d brought her own toys stashed in a silk bag under the bed, but now, hearing his _complete_ inexperience, she figures it would be better to...not go straight for the horns.

He stiffens when she puts the cloth in his hands. “I won’t peek. We’ll play by ear, okay?”

“Okay.” He turns around to hide his face and she thinks she may die in anticipation. He’s _here_ , with her, in a bedroom. At a _dungeon party_.

“Is there anything I should know before we start?” Like if he had a girlfriend he’d be cheating on? Or if he had some horrible STD?

“Um…” When he swivels back around, he doesn’t face her, the blindfold completely muffling his vision. “I think it would be okay if you wanted to kiss on the mouth. I’m clean and it’s been a long time since I’ve done that.”

...But didn’t he have a girlfriend?

She hustles to get her mask off and stops herself before she launches at him to push him down into the sheets. She doesn’t know him. They met a few hours ago, but it was enough for her to decide he was more awkward than aggressive. If she’s too eager, how will that look? Will he think it’s normal for this?

Reigning in her desires, she starts slowly with a hand on his chest, slipping it under the shoulder of his jacket as the other slides gracefully across the opposite pec. He’s _ripped_ and she’s chomping at the bit to get him naked and under her, but she needs more patience. No rushing him. No making him uncomfortable, no rushing. If it all goes poorly, however, she’s sure she can just slide into obscurity and never reappear in his life again.

The leather drops to the floor with a soft plunk, bearing his body to her. He is...more than she could have hoped for. His chest is broad and strong, his belly muscled but a little soft, matching the way his waist seems to taper and flush with hips enough to bear his breadth. The happy trail is a nice touch, and she steals herself from making a glaring error by descending to kiss it immediately. She would get there yet.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she says softly, “you’re just incredibly handsome.”

His chuckle is beautiful and it rings sweetly in her ears. “You flatter. You haven’t even seen my face.”

If only that were true. “Doesn’t matter so much right now.” She strips her tiny shirt from her shoulders with a little difficulty, tossing the material to a chair by the door. Guiding him to the bed, she gently pushes him down into the sheets, hovering just above to kiss down his stomach. Oh, gods alive, his belly is ticklish, giggles spilling as she nibbles her way to the waistband of his underwear. “I bet your ass looks fantastic in these,” she teases, snapping the elastic.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, actually. I would.” She stands, unfastening his belt and working the buttons and zippers open until the semi-hard length of his cock is partially visible in the uncovered space. He looks decently sized already, her own arousal piqued at the sight. Wetting her tongue, she sucks a spot on his shaft, listening for the hitch of breath that staggers from his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice breathy, “it’s just been a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Year and a half at most?”

... _Did_ he have a girlfriend then?

Fingers hooking into his pants, she pulls them down slowly to reveal thick, muscled thighs a shade lighter than his arms. Cream-colored and pale; perfect for obscenely red hickies. A soft bite results in a stifled moan and she’s never been more grateful to have someone sensitive as a partner.

“Quick question, have you ever done anal before?”

He sits up, searching out her fingers with a blind hand. “That’s pretty forward.”

“You’re going to be naked in front of me in a few minutes; I don’t think it’s _that_ forward.”

“No. I’ve fooled around with guys before, but it never went that far.”

Oh, good. Okay. She can work with that. “Is it something you’d be up to trying?”

“...I would need to be the one without the blindfold.”

“Well, since I have and you haven’t—”

“Ah. Know what? Why not?”

This definitely feels surreal. He agrees just like that? More eager than a lot of first-timers she’s seen. She’ll go slowly, so as not to hurt him _too_ much. It’s always uncomfortable the first few times, but she has a few tricks to lessen the displeasure. It’ll get better, she tells him. It’ll always feel better once relaxation kicks in and the nerves die down.

She starts by nudging him further up the bed and ditching the boxer briefs, careful to go slowly, to linger fingertips over all available skin. Finally free, his cock falls to lay on his stomach, thick and growing redder by the second. If it’s truly been so long since he’d had a partner, he must be overly sensitive to her touch. The urge to suck him off rolls down her hips followed by the need to see him panting and crying for her, flushed and needy. But it’s the first time they’ll be together.

Possibly the only time.

Still...oral isn’t as fun with condoms, and she’s not here to catch anything, just here to bring him over every edge she can before her idiocy catches up and she’s left to pine forever. It’s sheer luck that he’s even here with her; she doesn’t want to waste a moment of it.

She snakes up his body, her skin grazing his enough to feel heat but not enough for full contact. Let him crave her; gods know she wants every inch of him to herself. Her breath ghosts his neck and she’s surprised when he evades her kiss, lips only barely touching hers before he turns his head, nose grazing her cheek, teeth at her ear. He’s gentle, nibbling soft tissue until _she’s_ the one moaning, senses darting away for a brief moment. Smoothly, he slides out from under her and climbs over her back, pressing her down with the weight of his chest, arms locked under hers. His kisses on her neck are feather-light until he bites, searing white and pops of petals through her bones.

“Are you into sensory things?”  he asks, his voice a low growl in her ear.

His hot breath on her cooling skin is starting to fuzz her mind. “Like feathers?”

“Like temperature.”

She has to think. “Yeah. I’ve used wax before. I thought you’d never done anything before?”

“Wasn’t aware that counted. I’ll have to see, if you want to try—”

“I’ll keep my head down.” Honestly, anything he wants, she’ll give him.

She buries her face in the pillows, content with the change of direction. She liked control, but sometimes it was fun to give it up for a night. If he wants to experiment, she’s not going to stop him.

He takes one of the soy candles from the nightstand and blows out the flame, letting scend smoke gather in the air. The hot liquid hits her spine in a slow pour, his fingers making careful lines to prevent it from spilling onto the sheets. The heat burns a little, then soothes over, making her skin tickle. After the initial shocks, she is bathed in warm pleasure, wax forming cooling lines on her back.

Heat isn’t her best friend, and it takes another minute before she’s pushing her scalding back against his chest, listening for the groan of satisfaction from his lungs. _He’s_ the one who likes wax play, just couldn’t find the words to say it. Well, she doesn’t have ice cubes or chilled metal, but she can work with this.

He re-dons the blindfold and she forces him down on his back, retrieving a second candle to let wax lick down his stomach. His head thrown back, she lowers to nibble at his neck. She doesn’t have to ask to kiss him; he drags her down and sucks hard on her bottom lip. Kneading the muscles just inside his thighs makes him release, a moan raked from his lungs. Rey glances down to see him fully aroused, the head of his cock red and straining, beaded with precum.

“Look at you,” she says softly, sitting up on her haunches. She sucks one red petal onto the plaster of his thigh before climbing down and rifling through her bag for the harness. The attachment she picks is thin, hopefully small enough for a first-timer. Armed with lube, she crawls back between his legs and spreads them farther apart.

He sucks in a breath when the cold jelly-like substance touches his skin. “Is it supposed to be like that?”

“It’s a little thicker than usual.” She rubs a generous amount onto her hands and coats the dildo with half, him with the other. His toes twitch when she tests him with a finger. “Ready?”

“I feel like I should have fasted for this.”

“You’ll be fine.” She touches his calf with the terrycloth of a towel before urging him forward.

One hand on his cock, she nudges the tip of the strapon into him, reveling in the breathy noise it encourages from his throat. Overstimulation was a cruel specialty of hers. It makes her bones ache a little that she can’t simultaneously blow him, but with the amount of squirming he’s doing, it might not have gone well.

“Fucking stings,” he grits out, chest heaving to suck in breath. His thighs quiver when she slides another inch in.

“Should I stop to let you adjust?”

He nods, knuckles white in the sheets. A minute or two later, he is gripping her hips, encouraging her forward. She is slow, slower than necessary, until her skin touches his and she snaps her hips, pumping up his shaft when the sobs come. Strings of muttered _fucks_ and _oh gods_ spill from his lips and she picks up her pace. His chest is flushed red and his forehead is soaked in sweat.

She slips one of her hands off his hip and to her cunt, sliding a finger precariously inside when she stills every few seconds. He comes first, his back arched and his toes curled. White spills all over his stomach. She follows fast, fingering herself to peak before pulling out cautiously and rolling onto her side.

After a breath, she rises to clean the mess, returning to the bed when dirty towels and toys are tossed into a bag to wash later. She doesn’t blame him for falling asleep afterwards. She does too; she could use a little rest.


	4. On the Bright Side, There is No Bright Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Arthur:** This is a total bloody disaster. All my knights have fled and we're lost in a dark and extremely expensive forest.  
>  **Patsy:** Well, could be worse.  
>  **Arthur:** Oh how could it possibly be worse?  
>  **Knight who says Ni:** Ni!  
>  **Arthur:** Oh no.

He’d be lying if he said not knowing isn’t killing him

It is.

Lying awake, it takes every ounce of his strength not to turn on the lights to see her face. It’s been a long, long time since someone last made him feel _that_ incredible, and he’s not keen to see her go just yet, but the _rules_. Then she’d know who he is, and what he does, and perhaps she’d get intimidated. Or run off. Or maybe she just isn’t here for anything more than a one-night stand. But he is, and not seeing her face will be his death.

He _has_ to know.

She hasn’t been out long and he never actually fell asleep, so the candles are still hot and within range. He takes one gingerly from the nightstand and relights it, finding the little lighter beside. She’s on her side, her face turned to his. At first, the flickering ember does nothing but recount the shadows on her features, blends the dark into her skin. As he moves closer, the honey light creeps upon her cheeks and he sucks in a breath.

It’s the girl from earlier. Soft freckles decorate her nose and her wild chestnut hair is spread all over the downy pillows in thick waves. Lips a dusty rose, she is just as beautiful as before. And she was...interested in him, enough to steal him away. Enough that he worries his own heart has started to climb through his ribs, reaching out for hers. It had only been sex, but the way she touched him, tenderly, with the grace of a flower garland—

He loses his balance and the candle tips. The wax spills. Hot and lilac-scented, it hits her face and she bolts awake with a scream. Hands fly to her face, legs draw close, and the wings of a great eagle roar into existence wrapping around her, cloaking her skin from sight.

He forgets how to speak at first. “Eros.”

“Hello Psyche.” Her tone is furious and bitter. “I would like my clothes, please.”

Without thinking, he begins to move, fetching garments from around the room. She snatches them back with force, shielding herself with the great wings when she starts to dress.

“Rey.” He remembers her human name now. “I—”

“Enough.”

“I’m sorry—”

“ _Enough!_ ”

Her wings spread when she is clothed and they are _enormous_ , bolstering her size. She snarls when she passes by, fire thick in her gaze. He steps back and lets her leave, watching as several feet of feathers trail behind. When the door slams, he lets out a shaky breath and collects his own clothes, dressing in less of a haste.

Mona is in the front when he exits the Room of Today’s Big Fuckup. Her makeup is smudged and he’s certain there’s a mark from a switch high on her back, visible through the bands of her dress. She smiles big at him, then she notices his despair.

She takes him by the chin, tall in her miles-high heels. “I said no frowning tonight, what happened?”

“I made a mistake.”

Mona bites her lip, then snaps for Louise to return. “It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Remember last year’s Christmas party?”

“I retract my previous statement. We can leave if you want—”

“No, don’t duck out early because of me.”

“Well, I _am_ getting tired—”

“You can’t leave with Louise if I don’t come.”

“...No, I cannot. But I also care about you, so if you want to go, we’ll go. I’ll send Lou home and we can...I don’t know. We can do something else.”

He shrugs off the suggestion. “It’s fine. Let’s get you two back and I’ll take care of myself, okay?”

She nods, but it’s reluctant. She’ll chew him out in the morning. “Okay.”

 

 

“Didn’t I _warn_ you this sort of crap was going to happen?”

“Yes, but—”

“No _buts_ , Eros. Can’t you do _anything_ for me without screwing up? One _little_ task, one burn, that’s _all_ I asked of you, but no. You had to go and _ruin_ it all, like always. Acting like a little bastard child all the time—”

“ _Mother!_ ”

Rey fights back another choked sob as Aphrodite wheels on her, face more furious than she’d ever seen. Her mother is tall, blonde, beautiful, and crueler than the Christian hell—a list of things that Rey is _not_. She wishes she thought this through, but she hopes, really hopes, that one day her mother and she will be on good terms. But they’re not. She can’t ever do right by Aphrodite.

She sits huddled in a ball on one of the red sofas in her mother’s penthouse, tears streaming from her one good eye. The other is covered by a warm compress. The hot wax has singed her skin and possibly lost her that eye, but she doesn’t know the extent of the damage yet. It’s a good thing she never aspired to be gorgeous or well-dressed, because a huge angry scar on her face is a real wrench in the plan.

“Oh, Eros,” Aphrodite coos in that fake syrupy voice Rey has grown so accustomed to, “I lost my temper. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s fine,” Rey chokes. “It’s fine, Mom.”

“Good.” The tyrant returns. “Now, we just have to find away around this...blunder you’ve made.”

“I can’t undo it. I’ve read everything about accidental arrows, but there’s nothing to reverse it.”

“Well. There’s no way out?”

“No.”

“And you can’t make anyone else fall for him?”

“ _No_.” She probably can, but the heartache of that scenario—

“Fine.” She shrugs, long blonde curls flowing around her shoulders. “Then I’ll just have to find a way to kill him.”

“ _What!?_ ”

“Don’t worry, it shouldn’t take that long.”

“ _MOM!_ ”

She hears the door of the penthouse’s upper floor seal, trapping her in until Aphrodite returned. With a terrible groan, she fishes her phone out of its place hidden in the cushions. She leans back into the plush couch and dials Finn.

“We have an issue.”

“Rey?” Finn’s voice is thick, like he’d been sleeping. She hopes it was just sleeping, anyway.

“So I…” Deep sigh. “I sort of…”

“You sort of…?”

“I slept with him.”

It’s quiet on the other end. For far too long. “All right. That’s not all, is it?”

“He saw my wings.”

“Oh, _Rey._ ”

“I know,” she croaks. “I know. That’s not the worst part.”

“... _No_ , you’re not—you went— _REY!_ ”

“I’m _sorry!_ He spilled wax on me, Finn. My face is all burned up and I panicked.” Her next breath is shaky. “I didn’t know what to do. And she’s a weasel; she found out.”

“Shit.”

“And she’s locked me in here. Is there any way you guys can bust me out?”

“...I’ll call Poe.”

Kylo finds himself wandering once he drops Mona and Louise off. They had tried to coax him to join, but he’d already cost them half their night, and he wasn’t about to continue intruding on what was supposed to be a private evening. He knows well when he’s unwanted.

Like in Hades, the Underworld. He felt mercilessly judged by its king, his grandfather. Kylo is a demigod, slighted by his father’s morality. No matter what he does, he’ll never be a _full_ god. He’ll have a longer life, but he’s not immortal. He’s not the grandson that was hoped for. And it _kills_ him. Aches to know something better was wanted in his place.

He looks down at the marking on his wrist, runs his fingers over the thick dark numerals. Someone is going to love him when the counter reaches zero. He screwed up with Eros, the one who decided he’d be a little less lonely. She made him feel incredible for those short hours, but...she’s a _goddess_. She’s not some mortal girl who runs around chasing down a lover; she takes whom she wants and she’s done with him. He can’t have someone with full divinity—he’s only half. And he has half fallen for her.

Moping is how he gets caught. Not paying attention to his surroundings, he is cornered. Alone. Nowhere near home. _Dammit_.

“Psyche, what a pleasure.”

Aphrodite is extravagant and ethereal. She doesn’t look a day over thirty and she probably never will. Though a beautiful, feminine creature, she scares the _shit_ out of him. She might not be a muscled warrior, but she has a lot of…”friends.”

He sucks in a breath. “Great to see you. Really. But I need to get home—”

“No, you don’t. I live closer, you can stay with me for the night.”

“Thank you, but—”

“I insist.”

He doesn’t see whatever drug she stabs him with, but he feels it, senses his veins slow to frost until the world is dark.

• • •

His lip is definitely swollen. Gods, he hates this woman. His hands are bound too. It’s dark, but he can see her silhouette in the dim lighting. She cocks her head, still watching.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but what is this about?” Shit, his lip _sounds_ swollen.

“You hurt my poor baby, Psyche.”

Poor…? On _Zeus_ . She is _Rey’s_ mother. Pain spikes in his chest and he feels incredibly guilty. “I did.”

“That’s unacceptable. Didn’t your mother raise you better? Or did you only learn half your manners?”

 _Bitch_.

“And you’re a spotlight whore, Psyche. It’s my light you bask in, and I’ve had enough of it.” She steps closer, heels clacking on a marble floor. “But I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll leave you alone if you bring me something I want.”

“I’m listening.” Not that he wants to.

“A dose of beauty from Persephone is what I request. She’s your grandmother, correct? Then she’ll trust you with it.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” She claps her hands together. “Bring me the dose and I’ll leave you and your girls be.”

What choice does he have? “Fine.”

• • •

It’s been years since he’s seen this subway station. The City Hall station hasn't been in use in over fifty years, making it a perfect liminal portal. He stopped visiting his grandparents when he stopped speaking to his parents. It hurt a little to remember his mother was aching over his choice, but his father...he was too spiteful in his youth. He had burned one too many bridges out of anger with his situation. It was unfair.

The terminal inside is beautiful. It’s closed and sealed, but the tiling was more intricate than anything nowadays. Blues and whites reflected off the flashlight in his hand, bouncing light around the tunnel walls. He doesn’t have the luxury of wings, but his step is light and he can sneak into places he doesn’t belong, has always been able to since he was a kid. Wandering down the tracks here is no different.

He remembers to feed the dog on the other side this time. He _could_ cross the river, or he could bypass it, descending into the earth below its flow. His grandmother cultivates flowers here, intricate things that would no doubt prefer the light of the upper realm, but here they stay. He considers taking one with him, but knowing his grandfather’s temper, decides against it. That is not a risk he is willing to take.

The palace is tall and it stands behind the gardens. There is an eternal twilight here, one that casts shades and shadows all around the ground, plants and sky illuminated with soft blue tones. Vines and flowers grow tall under the strange moonlight, their faces open to the stars. He follows through the stone walls and the plants, petals growing brighter the closer he gets to the entrance to the grounds.

Persephone sits with a book at a small patio table, her hair tied in elaborate knots. She hasn’t aged a day past twenty-five and he is nearly always floored by his grandmother’s beauty. His mother has it, too, but all he received in return was his father’s large nose and crooked grin.

“Ben,” she greets softly when he kneels before her.

“Hello, Grandma. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

She nods. “Quite some time. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“It’s unfortunately not a pleasure. I...I’m being blackmailed by Aphrodite.”

She cocks her head, frowning. “What’s she doing this time? And why _you_?”

“I may be threatening her somehow, for some title in the fashion world. And I... _might_ have burned her daughter.”

“ _Ben_.”

He throws up his hands. “It was an accident! If it makes it any better, I…” He stalls, feeling his cheeks redden. “I really like her. I don’t _know_ her all that well, but I like her. And I screwed up.”

Padmé sucks in a breath. “Are you sure?”

“No, but I have a pretty good guess.” He sits across from her and settles into the cushioned metal chair. “Aphrodite has asked, in order for her to back down, that I bring a dose of your beauty to her.”

“...My beauty?”

“It’s okay if I can’t—”

“No, you can. It’s not that tall of an order.” She smiles and stands, beckoning him to follow. “Come inside, have a little tea. I’ll get it ready for you.”

This seems too easy.

His grandmother was a politician to pass the time, something she enjoyed doing and matched with her ferocious virtues. She gave it up for his grandfather and while it’s been a long, long number of years since she last took to a grandstand, she still has the slyness of a political woman in her step.

Of course, political women are all for the art of negotiation.

Hades, lord of this realm, is reading a newspaper in the kitchen. They lock eyes and Kylo feels his bones freeze up, not prepared for a reunion. Anakin is _scary,_ more from his temper than his looks, and he has no doubt caused a lot of turmoil in the family, with the whole ‘excommunicate your parents’ stunt. It may have been for the best at the time, but it certainly hasn’t improved any family relations since.

“You look better without the beard.” He turns back to his newspaper. “I see you’ve been...busy, making a name for yourself.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

Padmé's hand is on his shoulder. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

No, gods, no, don’t _leave_ him! There’s no way this won’t get _worse_.

It takes a pause before Anakin speaks again. “How are your parents?”

“Good, I think. Haven’t talked to them in a while. My uh, my dad runs a contracting business. I think he’s doing all right.”

“That’s nice to hear.” He gestures wide. “Take a seat.”

Kylo has to stop himself from screaming and running out. There’s a lot of pressure in his tone. “How have you guys been?”

“Same as the past thousand years. Not much changes in the world of the dead.”

“Oh?”

“Ben.” Anakin sighs. “We’ve never had an…issue, about you. You’ve always been accepted in the family.”

“Right…”

“You don’t have to be a stranger, or so stiff.” He isn’t one to talk. Anakin looks about as shaky as he feels, awkward and uncomfortable around serious or meaningful discussion.

“I understand, but…” But what? But he can’t admit he feels odd and out of place amongst a family of gods while he’s only half? Or feel comfortable around his mortal father, who doesn’t really understand the world his wife and son walk in? How is he supposed to fit in two places he’s not completely meant to be?

“Here it is!” Padmé returns as a saving grace. She places a vial softly into his hands. “It’s important that you don’t open it, don’t look at it, and don’t think about it too much, all right? It has to go untampered with to its designated keeper.”

He stands to hug his grandmother. “Thank you so much for this, I really do appreciate it.”

“Promise to visit more, all right, Ben?”

“I promise I’ll make more of an effort.”

She’s beaming when he pulls away. “Good luck with the girl and everything. And say hello to your mother for us when you next see her.”

He promises for that as well, giving the warmest smile he can manage as he leaves. The girl. _Fuck_ , the girl. That’s a lost cause by now; no sense griping over it, right? He just has to pay off her mother and never see either of them again. He’ll go be a hermit somewhere his disappointments can’t catch up to him. There’s supposed to be another one now, someone to love, but after he’s screwed up this badly with the first, what’s the point?

On the surface once more, spite for Aphrodite climbs up his spine. What in the universe is he bringing to her anyway? Would it ruin it if he opened the vial instead?...Actually, he hoped so. Standing on the long-abandoned subway platform, he dislodged the stopper, letting the liquid inside hit the air.

And he hit the stonework in a roar of thunder, knocked out like lightning. Sleeping draught. He should have _known_ his grandmother hated Aphrodite more than most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the 'Everything Goes Wrong All the Time' show!


	5. To Hell and Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the things she would do for this idiot.

Finn is the first to come for her. He steps through the pane of the slanted penthouse windows and brushes invisible lint off his pants, as if he hadn’t performed a complicated feat. She assumes it goes with his gig as Hermes—crossing boundaries, playing pranks, and getting messages anywhere they need to go. He’d have made a better mailman in human disguise, but it’s no wonder he works for a global shipping company.

Rey gives him a once over with her one good eye and opens her hands. “Well?”

“Well what? Here I am.”

“You know she’s got this place under _serious_ lockdown, right? I’m surprised you got in without tripping a sensor, but I’ll be more impressed if you can get _out_ without doing it.”

“...Are you _sure_ your mom’s not a vampire? She doesn’t like, take people back to her lair and eat them or anything, right?”

“She did spend a few summers in Crete.”

Finn shivers. “Don’t even _joke_ about that, man. You know how much they freak me out.”

“Is this about the Little Italy incident again? Finn, I _told_ you—”

“There’s so much garlic, I know, but that guy was _unnatural_. Straight up _creep_ , Rey. And then you—”

“Do you have an escape plan, or are we going to argue about vampires until my mom’s return and our untimely deaths?”

“Poe is supposed to come back with a crowbar, he said.”

“A...crowbar.”

“It’s a magic crowbar.”

She cocks her head and folds her arms. “Right. If that doesn’t work?”

“He was obstinate about it working. I came by first to make sure you were okay and if we needed anything else.”

“Well, thank you for that. I appreciate the company.”

There is a clang on one of the skylights and Rey jumps backwards, ready to confront the worst. Poe has a sheepish smile that quickly dissolves into a grimace of frustration as he rams a crowbar into the window latch. He drops down quickly when the glass swings open.

“You’re a sight with a sore eye,” he remarks, raising an eyebrow. “Need some help there, Nosferatu?”

Finn groans. “Are you _both_ in on this right now? Is this really happening?”

Poe turns to Rey. “Little Italy?”

“He won’t shut up about it.”

“It is _not_ funny, do not—I can _see_ you laughing!”

With a shrug, Poe beckons Rey forward and lays his hands over her burn. “Were you using beeswax?”

“Soy, I thought, but apparently not.”

“Ended nasty, whatever it was.” He brushes his thumb over her eyelid before stepping backwards. “You’re going to have a tiny scar; burns aren’t a specialty of mine.”

“I don’t care as long as I can see again.” She blinks rapidly, sight returning to normal. “Can we get out of here now?”

She knows the moment she sets foot outside of the apartment, she is going to have to run. Her mother is anal on top of being a bitch, and she’s certain some sort of alarm or warning will go off the second she gets out of Aphrodite’s poisonous claws. Wings out and spread the second her feet hit the roof, she is on her way down to street level, gliding softly on the air currents. She lands easily on the sidewalk, a smooth breeze ruffling her hair. Her friends follow her down, flanking her as they race across the city out of mortal sight.

But...there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach, something wriggling and awful. She comes to an abrupt halt on the corner of 3rd and East 42nd.

Finn slams into her back. “What the _hell_ —”

“I don’t have a lot of time left on my mark.”

Poe’s exasperated. “ _So?_ ”

“My mom’s done something crazy to him. We have to go.”

“Go _where?_ ”

“The City Hall loop.”

Finn backs up. “No, I’m not going anywhere _near_ Little Italy.”

It’s Rey’s turn to get agitated. “We either take the 6 around it, or we _walk_. For an _hour._ ”

It has been a long, long time since she’s last seen the entrance to the Underworld.

Well guarded, they slip in from the skylights on surface level, carried through the glass by Finn’s barrier sliding. It takes a few turns on the tracks to reach the mouth of the tunnel proper, a dark void leading down into the depths of the earth, beyond the realm of mortals. It takes her a matter of moments to find him, an aching in her bones pointing her in the correct direction. He’s sprawled out before the gates, a crystal vial lying close to his person. She drops on her knees beside him.

“Shit.” It comes out low. “ _Shit_.”

Poe’s hand finds her shoulder first. “Rey…”

“How did I get stuck with such a beast of a parent?” She brushes back the hair skewed across Kylo’s forehead. “Why don’t things turn out the way they should?”

“At least he’s still breathing.”

She sighs. “Yeah, that is a plus.”

...Wait.

She has him—in a sense—where she wants him. Reaching over her shoulder, her quiver materializes and with a shaky hand, she draws a long dark shaft with a black arrowhead. Her heartbeat is in her ears. She can make the fletching oxblood. It’s not a big effort, it wouldn’t take very long—

“Rey.” That’s Finn’s voice. It’s firm. “This isn’t right. It’s deceptive.”

“You hated him a few hours ago.”

“I still don’t like him, but this goes against code.”

“I need to wake him. I don’t need to load it.”

“But you want to.”

She nods, throat hot. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The arrow grows unsteady in her hands, enough that she jumps in surprise when he stirs. Oh, oh this doesn’t look good. This looks bad, so bad—

“It’s not a tattoo,” he stumbles out. His eyes are unfocused and his voice sounds as though he’s talking around a mouthful of cotton. “On your wrist.”

Her mark. He’d seen her mark. When they were in the apartment, _fuck_ , of _course_. She shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”

His glassy-eyed stare strikes her down to the bone, burning hotly straight into her ribcage. “I want you too.”

And he is out again. Looking to Finn, she is confronted with an exasperated shrug. For better or for worse, then.

She uncaps one of the small vials kept on her shooting belt. Adding a drop from another mixture, she inserts the arrowhead and twists it four times counterclockwise and twice clockwise. She takes it out slowly, waiting for the fletching to fully change from tan to oxblood. With a white pencil, Rey marks out the days left before her own countdown ends. It’s not much longer now.

She pricks Kylo’s arm with the command arrow. Not hard, but enough to draw a pinhead of blood. It is with twisted anticipation and anxiety that she watches his mark change from the basic pattern to one that represents her. The thin arrow grows a small sparrow’s wing on the top, nothing too fancy. With a small laugh, she accepts that there are tears gathering in her eyes.

“We…” she starts, drying her damp eyes. “We need to take him somewhere she’s not going to look.”

Heads turn to Poe.

“You’re not serious.”

“She hates you.”

“Fine, fine. I guess we can lug prince charmless around without drawing attention. No _problem_.”

They shuffle onto the E with enough charms on to dissuade even lesser gods. Kylo doesn’t wake to full consciousness, but he is responsive to basic commands—which is good, because there is no way in hell they can carry him back to Poe’s apartment.

Rey paces the living room when Kylo is laid out on the sofa, still more comatose than not. Poe goes straight into host mode and Finn leans in the doorway to the kitchen, observing the scene. There’s not much to do but wait now.

“You know who you should talk to?” Poe’s voice filters in before a plate of cheese and grapes. “My father. He might be able to do something about the crazy mom trying to kill another goddess’s kid.”

“I don’t think that will go so well.”

“Worth a shot. Not much else to do with sleeping beauty the way he is right now.”

She takes another long look at Kylo. It’ll be another few hours before the arrow’s prick will wake him fully from the draught. “Okay. Finn, I want you to come with me.”

He calls for his staff, its wings spread. “All right, but I don’t know where we’re going.”

“I do.”

Poe’s father works in a taller-than-the-heavens building in the financial district. It takes a flash of credentials and one impossibly long elevator ride to reach the top floor office. Zeus is how she remembers him: tan with light hair, dark suit, sparkling silver watch on his left wrist. Sometimes she thinks he’s just stepped off the set of a 60s mob movie; he keeps everyone on their feet.

“You two look familiar,” he greets with one of those wry smiles that immediately sets Rey on edge.

“Eros and Hermes. My mother is Aphrodite.”

“Ah.” He stiffens. “The salty old witch.”

“She’s...she—”

“She forces Eros into burning people,” Finn speaks up. She was never going to get the words out and she nods a silent thank you.

Zeus puts his hands on his hips and frowns. “That’s against the code. For how long?”

“Ages. Since I was a kid. She’ll threaten or yell if I don’t do what she wants. She asked me to burn Melinoe’s son, Psyche. And I didn’t. Tried to stand up to her, and now she’s out for blood.”

He looks between them and sighs. “This isn’t really something I’m allowed to deal with, you know, unless she goes through with it. If I prevent her from acting independently, then I have to stop everyone from doing it.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry kid, it’s out of my jurisdiction.”

“So we just, what then? Give up? Let her murder a demigod?”

“Unless she takes action, I can’t do anything.”

This was fruitless. “Thanks,” Rey says flatly.

She almost shoulder-checks Poe on her way out, not focusing to the sounds of the room around her. He stops her and grabs her by the wrist, pulling her back over to his father.

“Do you see this?” he asks, thrusting Rey’s mark in Zeus’ face. “The Fates screwed around with her timeline and now she’s _stuck_ with Psyche. One of the love Goddesses is going to get knocked out of commission if Aphrodite gets her way. Do you remember the last time this happened? When we lost an Eros to despair, Dad? Or, you know, why we’ve had more than one Eros _at all?_ If you let Aphrodite take Psyche out, then we’re going to have to start the whole cycle over again, and listen to _her_ until that next Eros is trained for their job. Could be ten years, could be a hundred. Either way, we’ll be taking lines from that old hag until a new face comes along.”

The look of horror on Zeus’ face doesn’t leave room for interpretations. Poe is ferocious in his stance. His mouth becomes a hard line when it seems his father will argue.

“Where is he?” he asks finally, exhaustion in his tone.

“We took him to my place. The wards should be strong enough to keep her out.”

“I can place security on him until we get her figured out.”

• • •

It takes another two hours for Kylo to come to consciousness when they return to Poe’s apartment. Rey has almost given up for the day, taking a designated place on the floor and leaning with her back against the sofa. Thankfully, blessedly, she is roused from her angry ponderings by a low groan and the shuffle of clothes on leather.

“What in the world happened?”

“You took a big wiff of a sleeping draught not meant for you.” His hair is an utter mess and he looks like he’s been in a bar fight, but he’s safe. He’s breathing. And for that, she smiles. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over by a truck.” He sits up and leans back, rubbing his head. “I’m sorry I peeked. I shouldn’t have.”

“Sorry I panicked. Would it be all right if I…?”

He moves over to give her space on the sofa. “I want to thank you for, um,” he lifts his marked wrist. “Doing that for me. It’s been a long time since someone took interest.”

“I…” She what? It happened by mistake, it wasn’t intentional. “I was supposed to burn you. My mother hates you, and she has me do her dirty work more times than not. I didn’t want to, and in the end, I screwed up.” She shows him her wrist. Closely this time, so he can see exactly what’s printed on her skin. “I set myself up to fall for you. I didn’t mean it at the time, but I don’t regret it.” There are fireflies buzzing in her stomach, making her bones and nerves jittery. He could reject her now, but she’d marked him back. They’d be stuck together in the most unfair of circumstances. “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a say in the choice.”

“No, I did.”

She stops hiding her face in her knees and looks up at him. His eyes, dark as cocoa, are shimmering in the dim lights.

“You were...breathtaking when we first met. I was excited when I learned that you were the same girl from earlier, when we met at the party. I want to get to know you, if that’s all right.”

“We have a lot of time for that. I struck you back when you were a little delirious. We match now.”

“May I?” he asks, stretching his arm along the sofa back behind her.

She nods and leaps at the invitation, curling into his side. It feels...right, to be so close. He is warm and she fits against his side like a puzzle block, the way they’d fit together two nights ago. She hums and breathes in the scent of him, trying to memorize all the little details her hungry eyes can catch.

“We’re going to fall in love then, aren’t we?” She hears his voice more as a rumble through his chest than a vibration of the outside air.

“In a matter of days we’ll be hopeless for each other. It was the most powerful arrow I nicked us with.”

“Devoted without really knowing one another? Forgive me for saying, but it sounds a little shallow.”

She shrugs and sits up to rest her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes love can take years, sometimes it takes seconds. We’ll have a lot of time to learn more about each other, too.” She’s quiet a moment before she pulls away. “So you’re really not dating the model?”

“No!” He laughs. “No, it’s a media stunt to keep Aphrodite off her back. She has a girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“ _Shit_. Fashion Week.” He wriggles from her and stands, raking a hand through his hair. “I need to get back to the office.”

“Now? Are you up to it?”

“Not really, but I don’t have much of a choice.”

Rey nods, disappointed but unable to do anything. “I should escort you back, at least. In case my crazy mother finds out where you are.”

It is a far shorter trip from Poe’s place to Kylo’s studio. They don’t say much, either from nerves or the need to be alert. For her, it’s a mix of both. The past forty-eight hours have been a huge mash of confusion and anxiety, and she is grateful to leave both behind at the doors to his building.

“I’ll see you around?” she asks, wary of setting foot inside. This isn’t her place.

“I’m going to be so busy for the next week and a half that…” He stalls, glancing over. “Soon, I hope. I’ll let you know.”

To his credit, he does lean down to kiss her. It’s sweet but long, tipping her a little off balance. It shouldn’t send shivers of electricity crackling down her skin, but it does. Oh, it does, and she feels so light she could float away.

“Let me see your phone,” he says with his lips against her forehead. They’re in broad daylight, but it seems she’s losing her common sense along with her dignity in not pushing him away.

She hands it over and watches his fingers as he puts himself in her contact list. “Ben?” she asks when it’s been returned.

“Between the two of us, I do prefer my Dad’s choice for my name.”

Ben. It suits him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

He steals one last kiss before disappearing into the glass doors, leaving her to float home on sun-kissed skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up folks! The 6th and final chapter will be posted next Sunday. After that, updates on anything else I'm working on might be scarce until December. Fret not, I will return for winter once this semester's over!


	6. Golden Slumbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a fairytale without a wedding.

It’s not his job to do much of the last-minute sewing, but by the end of the pre-Fashion Week crunch, his fingers are looking more like pincushions than digits. Before the week opened, he had to rip several bandaids from his thumbs to look presentable. Now, dressed in an indigo-blue three piece and pale cream tie, he looks far better than he feels. Stress is something he handles well outwardly as it crushes his soul on the inside.

He is showing right in the middle of the week. It’s in the evening, a time that could have been better, but also could have been far worse. It is a real plus when nothing goes terribly wrong. There are a few behind-the-scenes makeup fiascos and one wardrobe malfunction, but everything is set and ready by the time seven rolls around.

...And then it’s over.

All the work they’d put in for the past few months is over. They made it without any major disasters. He almost hugs Phasma at the close, instead presenting a handshake and the promise of a raise. They’d done it. They’d goddamn done it.

They book a room in one of the more expensive lounge bars a few blocks from the show, his and a few of the other smaller design houses that presented. It’s quieter here and the lighting is dim, the bar backlit with dark blues. He is seated at the end of the booth beside Phasma. Mona is all the way on the other side of the big table. They ‘officially’ broke up a few days ago, meaning he has finally been able to sleep in his own bed again.

The evening, though full of smiles and laughter, is sorely missing something, and he doesn’t realize what until it’s tapping him on the shoulder.

Rey is there in a leather motorcycle jacket, tank top, and tiny red shorts. Her grin is a little shaky, growing more confident when he gives one back. “I should have told you earlier I snuck in to see the show.”

He moves over as much as he can manage to offer her a tiny place to sit. “You did?”

“Yeah. It’s something important to you and I thought it would be nice to go. A lot of the collections were...strange.”

“They tend to be.” He chuckles and offers her a sip of his drink. “You look incredible, by the way.”

“I look a little silly. I couldn’t ditch the jacket; they’re sort of my thing.”

He narrows his eyes, wry smirk creeping across his lips. “You had your bow, didn’t you?”

“I always have it. Never know when the perfect couple is going to appear right before my eyes.” She takes his hand slowly, cautious of the people sitting around them. “Sort of like us.”

“We’re not the perfect couple.”

“Yet,” she corrects. “Always room for improvement.”

“I think we should go out for dinner soon,” he says softly, tracing his thumb across the back of her hand. “Do something normal to make this feel like it’s slowing down.”

“There’s three days left before the arrow takes its full effect.”

“What happens then?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. If it’s anything like I think it will be, it means we’ll be soulmates. It’ll feel like we’ve known each other for centuries instead of weeks. We’ll fit together with each other better than we ever could with other people. It’ll be a little jarring at first, but I think it will be...comforting, almost.”

“Like the childhood best friends who grow up and fall in love.”

“Yeah, kind of like that.”

A voice breaks their private moment.

“Hey Kylo! Who’s the girl?” It’s Mona with a cheesy grin on her face, long fingers wrapped around the stem of her appletini. She looks exuberant, makeup still overdone from the runway.

“I’m the new girlfriend!” Rey calls back, her smile equally bright.

“Glad to see I’m so easy to replace.”

Rey turns to Ben. “She’s cheeky; I like her.”

“I heard that! Hey, is your jacket vintage?”

She stays with him through to the end of the evening.  She’s lively and the others take to her easily, causing pride to swell in his chest. He’s so _lucky_ to have met her, that she’d made a blunder and pushed them together. Maybe it’s the arrow, maybe it’s his own thoughts, but he feels so much happier in her presence. Maybe his mind and the arrow are one in the same now, since he’s certain he wants to stay with her, keep by her side. He’d be content listening to her talk for hours as long as he can lie his head on her shoulder or in her lap.

“Come home with me,” he says softly when they step back onto the street.

“I thought you didn’t want to rush?”

“We don’t have to do anything.”

She snorts. “We will. You know that we will.”

He knows. Oh, he knows. Perhaps that’s why he’s riddled with energy when they hail a cab across town. His fingers fumble with the keys to his apartment and he misses the way her jaw hangs open.

“Something wrong?”

“Not at all.”

The moment they are inside and alone, he can’t keep his hands off her. They stray up her arms, down her sides, across her back—he can’t help himself. It’s like a sickness, touching her. Her fingers are equally hungry, tracing up his neck and into his hair. She picks his clothes off one by one and for once he doesn’t care where they fall. Her jacket is thrown over the back of a chair, but her underwear go missing the moment they’re stripped from her legs.

He takes a moment to admire her when he throws her down into the sheets, smile big on her face. When she reaches a hand out to him, he climbs down beside her, kissing her senseless until the breath is stolen from her lungs.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she says softly into the skin of his throat. She raises her hips when he sinks down, relishing the groan to follow. “You’re for me.”

“Always.” He is so slow with her tonight, so painfully slow. He draws back and thrusts deeply, nipping at her neck. “Always.”

The sounds she makes are heady and he grows drunk off them, his actions less precise and more needy. She scrambles for him, scrapes her nails up his back. He doesn’t remember how they finish, doesn’t know whose limbs are whose, bodies tangled and breath drawn in quick bursts. He knows he sees stars at the end, knows there’s been nothing quite the same, or as good, in all of his past relationships.

She is for him, and in her arms he will sleep.

 

The room Rey has fallen asleep in looks much different in the morning light. For starters, she didn’t think K—Ben would be asleep beside her, figuring it had been a fantastic dream and not a reality. His dark hair is wild across the pillows and he is almost fully uncovered, the sheets in a tangle around his waist. The streams of sunlight make blocky patterns on his back, turning pale skin golden. She could get out of this massive bed and explore, or she could kiss him awake and maybe haggle for a round two.

The thump outside the bedroom stirs her from any of her plans.

Ben wakes slowly, cowlicks sticking in all directions when he sits up. “Good morning.” He presses a kiss to her cheek. “I assume you’re not in two places at once right now?”

“Do you have a pet or something?”

“No, and the cleaning woman comes on Sundays.” He rises, exposing the broad of his back to her as he stretches. “Let’s go check it out, shall we?”

He ties a robe loosely around his waist and she pulls her arms through his discarded shirt, trying in vain not to swim in the shoulders. Her panties are nowhere to be found, so he hands her a pair of his boxer briefs and she flushes. It’s the binding, she knows, but it still feels like a whirlwind romance, just getting to know each other and she’s already wearing his clothes.

Poe is sitting at the island with a piece of toast in hand. He looks a little exhausted, but he smiles and waves. “You two look like you had a fun night.”

Ben colors beside her and coughs. “What in the hell are you doing in my _kitchen_?”

“Oh, right. I’m here to give you a message. My dad wants to throw you a wedding.”

Rey folds her arms. “You don’t really _throw_ weddings.”

“Absolutely not.” Ben mimics her gesture. “We’ve barely been together—”

“But you’re soulmates now, right? Aren’t your countdowns gone?”

“Two days left.” She sighs. “Does it have to be right _now?_ ”

Poe shrugs. “I think he’s giving you the day to do whatever you need to and it’ll be later tonight. My old man doesn’t like waiting.”

Something changes in Ben’s face. “I’m not immortal.”

“So?”

“So I can’t marry her. I’m—you are, aren’t you?”

A cold chill sinks down her bloodstream. “I am, yeah. I...I didn’t even think about that. About those consequences.” She touches his shoulder and he stiffens. “I’m sorry.”

Poe’s voice is hard and sharp. “Tonight. Eight o’clock. You’re getting married. Got it?” He doesn’t leave room for negotiations and takes his toast when he jumps back out the window from which he had arrived.

Tension breaks.

“Ben.” She reaches up for his face, so she can hold his gaze down, but he doesn’t comply. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

“How can you promise that? I was born a _demigod_ , not a full one. I—I _cannot_ do this. I’ve craved full godhood before, sure, but…” He sighs. “If we do this, you’ll end up losing me. You know that, right?”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out, Rey. This isn’t something either of us can fix.”

She is about to argue more, that _yes_ there has _got_ to be some solution, but there’s a persistent knocking. He steps around her to open the door, letting a stream of Muses pour in. They look from Ben to Rey and one—she seems to be in charge—gives a flirty smile. “You need a dress, don’t you honey?”

“I don’t really like dresses.”

“If you’re making me do this with you, you’re wearing a dress.”

“A short one. With pants underneath.”

Ben groans. “Long and flowing. It’s a wedding, not a skateboarding tournament.”

“I prefer _bikes_ , thank you.”

He turns to the Muse. “Please, don’t let her talk you into something ridiculous.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not marrying her in a tracksuit.”

“I’m still wearing red shoes, got it?”

She follows where the Muses lead, at least half the group going with her. She’s not sure how long they could possibly take with Ben (it’s a suit, there’s not much to it, right?) but finding a dress she doesn’t hate could take all day. And they don’t have all day.

They bring her into a boutique that seems to have no purpose other than wedding dresses. One after another, white fabric is stripped off and zipped up. Several of the cuts gape in the chest. Badly. Others make her hips seem twice as large. Nothing fits quite right.

“How is this getting paid for?”

“Don’t worry about it,” one of the Muses chirps. They all look the same; she’s having a tough time telling them apart.

It feels like hours later, but finally something fits. And it fits _well_. The dress is long with a high slit up the billowy skirt. It looks somewhat Grecian and she wants to laugh at the irony, but sound is lost to her. She looks...fantastic.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she says, eyes not straying from her reflection. “I really love it.”

There isn’t time to play around with makeup and she is taken from the boutique to a salon in an upscale hotel. The Muses attending her are quiet when they fix her hair and face. Golds accent her eyes and flowers are woven into her hair with practiced ease. It takes forever and her patience is waning, anxious nerves crawling down her fingers.

She’s getting married. It’s all happening too quickly, but she’s about to be bound to someone she _loves_ in a matter of hours. Because she does love him. She wants to know everything about him and, for once, nothing is going to stop in her way of getting what she wants. No crazy mothers, no screw ups, nothing. He’ll be hers.

Until the end of his mortal life.

“I need to talk to Apollo.”

They don’t allow her to leave, but Poe is asked after and shows his face ten minutes later. He seems equally stressed as she. “You need something?”

“Ambrosia. Don’t we make exceptions sometimes?”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “We do, but the circumstances are usually funky.”

“Funky isn’t a precise word. What does funky mean?”

“Someone gets wronged, accidents, broken promises, heroic deeds—”

“Can we do something for him? Please? Poe, I don’t want to lose him after all this, especially to something preventable.”

He purses his lips. “I’ll do what I can.”

Eight rolls around faster than she expects. In a long dress with a bouquet in her hands, her head is spinning with reality. She’s getting married to a man she barely knows, but he’s also the man she loves. And he’s there at the end of the aisle, standing beside his closest friends. He looks beautiful, too. Black suit, yellow tie, and what she hopes is a smile. She can’t see his expression through the veil covering her face.

Finn walks her down, taking the place of her unknown father. It feels appropriate, her best friend giving her away at her wedding. It’s still happening too quickly, but isn’t that how it tends to work in these tales? An early wedding and a happily ever after? If her mother could get out of the picture, then it would truly be happy.

 

With shaking hands, Ben lifts the veil covering her face and sucks in a breath. She smiles hugely at him, the brightness of it lighting up her eyes. Any uncertainty he had has left now, disappeared into the void. It takes so much effort not to kiss her right there. He refrains, only half-listening to the vows being recited to him. He’s been to a Christian wedding before, but he wasn’t sure what he expected out of one for a god. The same stuff at the base, more or less.

When he’s finally allowed to kiss her, he makes it count. It’s a breath-stealing kiss, an embarrassment in front of their families and friends, but it’s sweet. It’s worth it. When they break apart, it’s almost as if they’re alone in a room, separated from the other bodies and heartbeats around them. She looks up at him and the universe is hidden in her eyes.

Leading her back into the crowds of smiling faces, he wants to drag her away into some alcove, keep the kiss burning for as long as possible, lips already aching to touch hers again. It’s strange, how compelled he is, how much he’s changed. How important she has become.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he turns, facing his mother for the first time in a long, long number of years. They’d spoken on the phone since they’d last been in a room together, but it wasn’t the same. It’s not the same still. She’s beaming and he’s holding back a tsunami of guilt that’s begun to brew in his stomach.

“This is a bit of a surprise,” she says softly.

“I wish I’d had a little more warning too.” He glances to see Rey has disappeared into the faces of friends, leaving him to make up with his parents alone. “Thank you for being here.”

“We wouldn’t miss it, kid.” His father. Shorter than he and going gray.

Ben’s throat is tight. “It means a lot to me. That you’re here. I’m...I’m sorry about what I’ve said. And done. I know this stuff doesn’t change overnight, but—”

“We understand. We can talk about it all later. But now,” Leia raises an eyebrow, “I think it would be nice to see your bride. Did you know she’s been working for us?”

“Sort of.” It’s not exactly the truth.

“She’s got a great head on her shoulders. We’ll leave you—it looks like you should have a word with Zeus.”

Ben watches his parents disappear into the golden crowd, eyes drawn to the imposing figure in black across the hall. With a deep breath, he makes his way through the reception and to the King of the Gods himself. What could he possibly want with a lowly demigod?

Poe’s old man claps him on the back in greeting. “Congratulations, Psyche. You’ve made the best out of a tricky situation.”

“Thank you, sir. Can I ask what happened to Aphrodite?”

“Told her off at the last Summit. Viciously. She won’t be bothering you or Eros again for a long while. Might not see this side of Athens in a good fifty years, either.”

“I think I’ll be too old to be bothered by then.”

“Old?”

“I’m...I’m half-mortal, sir. Fifty years is a lot to me.”

“Right, right. I’d forgotten. This is for you, son. Consider it a wedding present.”

Zeus hands him a silver goblet full of a red-gold liquid. It smells of honey and the flesh of a ripe peach. He knows almost instantly what the cup holds. “Thank you.”

“Drink it slowly,” he says, patting Ben on the shoulder, taking his exit.

Ambrosia. A drink of the gods. Immortality. All he’s wanted...but for all the wrong reasons. The room begins to feel too small, suffocating. He needs an open sky.

 

The breeze from the balcony is crisp in the pre-Autumn air. She’s unsurprised that he’s standing by himself overlooking the lights of the bustling city. It never calms, she reminds herself. It’s always moving and flowing to the beat of the second hand. He’s too used to his mostly-mortal life to let it sit still, to calm the buzzing in his bones. She leans against the railing beside him and nudges his shoulder with hers. “Something wrong?”

“No.”

“Come inside, then.” She leans to kiss his cheek—gets butterflies from it still. “They’re all here for us, you know.”

He nods. “I know. But…” He raises the silver cup up, lets it flash in the orange light of the post-dusk. “If…if you don’t want me to finish this, I won’t.”

She narrows her eyes. Inside the glass is his everything he’s wanted since he was a boy—she’s heard it from his mouth herself. Immortality. True divinity. “Ben…”

He leans into her at the sound of his name. “I don’t want you to think I’m using you for my own means. If you say no, I can pour it out. It’s okay.”

She can feel her heart sink to the bottom of the ocean blue. “You’d end up dying someday if you don’t. You’ll leave me behind. If you don’t love me—”

“I do.” He’s quick to correct her. “Do you think I’d have agreed to all this if I didn’t?”

“Drink it. Stay with me.”

 He sighs first and tips it back, ambrosia draining from the cup.

She finds his fingers as his face tenses. “How do you feel?”

“Light, I think. Weightless.” He turns to her slowly. “Is this how you feel all the time?”

“Just around you.” She smiles into the kiss. “Come on, they’re waiting for us. Poe’s dad will take the first dance if we’re not there.”

Hands wrapped together, she leads her new husband back inside, stealing kisses along the way.

**FIN**


End file.
